It Started With a Robe
by Orseis
Summary: Ginny Weasley has trouble with her temper under the best of circumstances. Poor Madam Malkin has enough trouble keeping her best tailor under control. When Draco Malfoy waltzes into the shop will Ginny manage to keep her job or will all hell break loose?
1. A Chance Encounter

Note: This story completely ignores the DH epilogue. :P Because the epilogue sucked. In fact, this chapter pretty much doesn't touch on events in the wizarding world at all. xD

I'm not sure whether I should try to concoct some half assed plot and continue or just go sulk in a corner and work on my writing skills for a few more years. Read and leave your opinions on this please?

Updates, if any, will be sporadic.

---

**It Started With a Robe**

_Chapter 1- A Chance Encounter_

---

Ginevra Weasley was sick and tired. Sick and tired of the leering smirks. Sick and tired of men mentally undressing her. Honestly, just because a woman has her head at your crotch does not mean you need to jump her. Well, at least not when said woman is armed with sharp pins and a menacing looking tape measure. That being said, Ginny Weasley was at her limit.

Ginny blew a strand of hair out of her face in exasperation. Rising from her knees she abandoned her attempts to get the man's measurements. "Sir, I would kindly recommend you stop fidgeting and fondling me with your eyes or my hands might mysteriously slip and introduce these pins to a certain sensitive part of your anatomy," she said in a sickly sweet voice with an equally sweet smile on her face. Rather than make her look more pleasant as smiles should do, Ginny just managed to like like a cat about to spear an especially juicy mouse on its claws.

The short balding man spluttered in shock, his face purpling in his indignation. It was either that or he was craning his head, trying to get a good angle to look down her robes. The bastard.

"MISS WEASLEY!"

Well shit. Where the shrill tones of her employer were heard, a frantic woman was sure to follow.

Sure enough, a wild eyed Madam Malkin burst into the fitting room. "Miss Weasley," she shrieked out of breath, as if she had run a marathon. "Didn't we discuss such behavior just this morning?" For such a small woman, it was amazing how much noise she could make.

"Well, you see..." started Ginny, her mind working quickly to come up with an excuse. As it turns out, she needn't have bothered as Madam Malkin was already spouting her most sincere apologies while gently steering the client to another room, all the while shooting her most intimidating glares at Ginny.

Ginny sighed, sitting on the low stool behind her as soon as Madam Malkin and the pervert were out of sight behind the curtain covering the doorway. Those glares did not bode well. Not only were they the famous Malkin 'pissed-beyond-all-logic' glares, but mixed in there were some 'forget-the-ministry-laws-I-will-personally-crucio-you-to-death' glares. _'Well, there goes my job,'_ Ginny thought miserably. _'And it was such a nice job too.'_ Or rather, the pay was. It was nice having extra galleons to spend and a flat of her own away from her mother's watchful eye.

Madam Malkin bustled back in, looking harassed. She firmly planted her hands on her hips and stood in resolute silence.

_'Uh oh. Silence is bad. Silence is bad.'_

Ginny slapped her best penitent child expression on her face and tried to look as dejected as possible from her low seat.

"Oh no, Miss Weasley, none of that now!" Madam Malkin crossed her arms, as if to give herself more strength and determination to deal with Ginny. "Your kicked puppy look won't get you out of this one."

_'Kicked puppy? Not what I was going for, but I'll take it.' _Ginny added a glassy-eyed pout for effect. She could not lose this job. She would tap dance naked in apology through Diagon Alley if that was what it took. As long as all the perverted old men were locked safely indoors, that is.

She could see the internal battle going on behind her boss's eyes. With a final shake of her head, she seemed to come to a decision. "Alright Miss Weasley. You get one more chance. Just one! Mister Reed was one of our most respected patrons, you simply can't speak to them like that."

Ginny sprang from her seat with a high pitched squeal and a small dance of victory.

"Calm down Miss Weasley," the Madam grumbled. "Now, there's a customer waiting. Perhaps the most valued customer this humble shop has."

Ginny rolled her eyes. _'Humble my ass.'_ The shop was smack in the middle of Diagon Alley for Merlin's sake.

Madam Malkin ignored the eye roll and stoically continued. "You are our best tailor and you know it. Just keep your thoughts to yourself and you'll be fine." She glowered at Ginny once more, as if to remind her of exactly what would happen if she was unable to keep those thoughts to herself, before she once again swept out of the room.

Ginny took a deep breath and straightened her robes. "You can do this," she mumbled under her breath. "Just take it easy. Count to ten. And remember you can always picture violent, gruesome deaths in your head without verbally insulting them."

"Talking to yourself Weasley? I always knew you were a nutter."

Ginny spun around, she knew that voice. Who else would stride through the doorway but Draco Malfoy, flinging aside the gauzy curtains as if he owned the place.

"Stop gaping Weasley. It makes you even more unattractive than usual." He brushed an imaginary piece of lint off his sleeve. "Though with your mouth open so wide, I can think of several things to occupy it that might make a man forget how displeasing the face it's attached to is."

Once Ginny's mind recovered from the shock and worked it's way through his convoluted insult, her face reddened with anger.

_'Must keep job. Must resist urge to insult.'_ So Ginny blurted out the first harmless thing she thought of.

"What are you doing here?"

"Getting a robe. I thought that was quite obvious." Draco stepped forward to face the large mirror on the wall. "And here I thought you were more intelligent than your brother."

Ginny clenched her fists, and miraculously kept her mouth shut. The fact that she was currently imagining stabbing millions of pins into Malfoy's eyes might have something to do with it.

"Well, get on with it. I don't have all day."

"Arms up!" she practically barked at him.

Draco chuckled at her obvious irritation and obediently raised his arms.

Gritting her teeth, Ginny flicked her wand and the tape measure started on his arms. "I suppose I should ask what you want Malfoy. It would be kind of hard to tailor an outfit for you otherwise."

Raising a perfectly shaped white brow he scoffed, "They actually let you work here? You're amazingly unprofessional. Not to mention most likely incompetent."

_'Deep breaths. Malfoy being strangled by the Giant Squid. Keep job. Yes.'_

Ginny settled for shooting a glare in his direction.

"As you may have heard there's a rather large, hugely important, mind numbingly dull ministry function next week," Malfoy continued, oblivious to her glare. "As such, I've decided to purchase a new set of dress robes for the occasion."

As the tape measure finished with his top half, Ginny flicked her wand and ended the spell. Kneeling down, she proceeded to measure his legs by hand. For some reason, she never quite mastered the second half of that spell. Her tape measure tended to rebel and fondle the unsuspecting bums of innocent customers. Not that Malfoy was innocent, but nevertheless, she'd rather keep her job than see the look on Malfoy's face at being molested by an inanimate object.

He paused in his demands and smirked down at her. "Ah Weasley. Finally in your proper place I see. You look great on your knees."

'_Asshole. May you be eaten by a rogue dragon.' _Ginny fished up a mental image of all the shiny galleons she was payed and focused on that. Must. Keep. Mouth. Shut.

"As I was saying, I need a dress robe," he continued.

_'Whew. Insult spewing crisis averted.'_

Finally finished taking his measurements, Ginny stood back up and squared her shoulders, looking Malfoy straight in the eyes. "I thought that was quite obvious," she replied mimicking his earlier words.

Damn. Did that come off as rude?

He narrowed his eyes for a moment but then brushed it off. He didn't have the time. "Quite. Since you work here, I'm assuming your horrid taste in clothes has improved over the years. The style, cut, and color of the robe is up to you. I trust even someone like you can do your job and make me look stunning. It isn't that difficult." He sneered at her once more and headed for the doorway. "I expect the robe to be sewn to my measurements in two days. I'll be back for a final fitting then."

Ginny was quickly running out of different ways to glare at him. Which was really saying something. Her glares spoke volumes and even the bravest quailed before them.

"See you soon Weasley." With a swirl of the curtains, he was gone.

"Arghhhh!" Ginny put all her rage and pent up frustration into one drawn out shriek.

Malfoy's head popped back into view. "You know," he smirked around the curtain, "These aren't soundproof." And again, he was gone.

Ginny pulled at her hair, silently this time. That was perhaps the single most infuriating being she had ever set her eyes on. Collapsing on her stool, she flung her tape measure at the opposite wall.

Only to have it veer off course and strike the poor Madam Malkin in the forehead and she brushed her way into the room.

Well shit. Her luck was definitely on vacation. Or perhaps it was lying dead in Knockturn Alley somewhere.

"Well really," Madam Malkin huffed. "At least that fitting seemed to go relatively well judging by the heavy sack of gold Mister Malfoy saw fit to hand over. Along with specific instructions that half that gold is to be used to buy robes for you Miss Weasley. I have no idea what you said, but it appears you've managed to catch his attention. You're to be Mister Malfoy's date for the next Ministry ball."

_'But I didn't say a word! Well...not more than a few.'_ Ginny opened her mouth to launch into indignant complaint.

Madam Malkin held up her hand before Ginny could protest. "No arguments! We need to keep him a customer at all costs. Just consider this as part of your job."

Curses. This job sucked.

---

Decent? Well I hope so. I haven't written anything in years.

Continue or don't bother? If continue, any suggestions? ;D


	2. Ethics and Elegance

So it took me over a year to update this. D: Sorry?  
This will be really slow going guys, college sucks. And I forgot what the plot was supposed to be lol.

**It Started With a Robe**

_Chapter 2- Ethics and Elegance_

Tea sprayed across the table in an impressive cloud of mist. The cause? Hermione Granger, who was currently coughing, bent over clutching the edges of the table, and being thumped roughly on the back by Ginny Weasley.

"He what?" Hermione wheezed out when she had finally caught her breath.

"I know, right? The nerve!" Ginny, seeing that Hermione could now breathe on her own, cleared the tea off the table with a wave of her wand.

Rather than join in with Ginny's indignant complaints, Hermione burst into a fit of decidedly un-Hermioneish giggling. "Oh honestly, he hasn't changed one bit!" she managed to gasp between giggles.

"How can you find this funny Mione?" Ginny practically wailed in despair. "What am I to do?"

Calming down, Hermione bent to pick up the mug she dropped, which had been mercifully just emptied of tea. "Well, it looks like he's still the same old, self-entitled, conceited prick, isn't he?" Setting the mug back on the table, she poured herself another cup from the teapot. "I don't think you should take him too seriously."

Ginny frowned. She could have sworn Hermione had stricter moral standards than this. "But this- this _deal_ of his, it practically makes me a..."  
"Prostitute?" Hermione chimed in helpfully, finishing Ginny's thought.

"Yes! Exactly that!"

Shaking her head slightly, Hermione took a cautious sip of her steaming tea. "I suppose that's one way to think of it. But on the other hand, you're not really doing anything Gin."

Ginny paused in her furious pacing around the kitchen table. "I'm not?"

Hermione gave her a look. That irritating Hermione look that made one's IQ cringe and shrink to about half its size. "I don't see anything wrong with accompanying someone to a ball. You get a lovely pair of new robes and a night off. Merlin knows you need a break," Hermione shrugged, uncharacteristically unconcerned. "If anything, I'm sure you can slip away if he gets to be too much."

Well. When you put it that way, it didn't sound all that bad. Work _had_ been hectic the past few months. A night of dancing and frivolity might be nice, even if she had to show up on Malfoy's arm.

"You won't tell Harry or Ron, will you?" she pleaded with a resigned air. "Those two will likely strangle Malfoy the moment they hear of this. And as attractive as that idea sounds, that's the last thing we need."

"You do realize they're going to be there as well?"  
"What?" Ginny froze, color draining from her face as she suddenly felt queasy. "Be where?"

"The ball Ginny," Hermione shot her a worried look, as if doubting the state of her sanity. "It's the annual War Memorial Ball, they're practically required to attend. As am I for that matter," she muttered, looking entirely unhappy with that. "You're usually on top of these things Gin, did you lose track of the date?"

Ginny groaned, smacking her palm into her forehead. "I completely forgot! I thought that was still a month off!" Work must have been busier than she realized if she hadn't even remembered the ball was coming up. It was held on the second of May every year, the same day as the Battle of Hogwarts, to remember those who had fallen during the wars against Voldemort. She had attended every year so far. She vaguely remembered dumping this year's invitation on her desk somewhere, to lay forgotten under a pile of bills and robe design sketches.

"You'll help me, won't you Hermione?" She'd likely need divine intervention to stop the boys from killing Malfoy, but Hermione would be a good start. "Can you, I don't know, distract them or something?"

"I can try," Hermione looked doubtful. "If anything, I'll nick their wands early in the evening. With luck, they won't do any lasting damage without them."

Night off indeed.

xxxxxxxxx

Ginny had spent some minutes staring incredulously at the locked door, speechless. Madam Malkin had taken her off all her other projects for the day, unceremoniously shoved her into one of the small work rooms at the back of the shop, and told her that she was under no circumstances to come out without a finished robe for the pompous ferret-faced Draco Malfoy. Well, she didn't use quite those words.

A small cot had shortly been magicked into a corner of the room, seeming to imply that Ginny was not only expected to spend all day here but the night as well. Of course, a simple locked door was no obstacle to a witch. And oh, the temptation to just leave was great. But leaving meant the loss of her job. And all those shiny galleons and the independence that went with them. So stay she would, but that didn't mean she had to enjoy it.

She was currently considering one of the many bolts of fabric that filled the room. This specific one happened to be a hideous shade of some sort of blend of orange and puce. Why Madam Malkin even stocked this shade, Ginny didn't know.

No. She couldn't. Malfoy may be a complete wanker, but Ginny had to admit he had taste. He wouldn't touch this robe with a ten meter long broomstick. Sighing she put aside the fabric in favor of a lovely bolt emerald, the exact shade of Harry's eyes. There was nothing objectionable at all about this shade; Madam Malkin couldn't really fault her for her choice. Ginny was rather hoping it would have the added bonus of making Malfoy spend a whole night reminded of his school rivalry.  
Time to get to work.

Hours, and a rubbish bin full of discarded design sketches later, Ginny had a fairly decent design down on paper.

She turned to the tailor's mannequin at the center of the room. With a few flicks of her wand, she had it resized to Malfoy's measurements.

Were his shoulders really that broad? The scrawny git had filled out a bit since Hogwarts.

_'Concentrate woman!' shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Ginny returned to her work. Fabric and pins flew through the air at a furious speed, arranging themselves with the strict guidance of Ginny_'s wand.

Several hours into the night, after much trimming and adjustments, Ginny had a suitable robe snugly covering her mannequin. Take that Madam Malkin!

With perhaps the exception of the color, Malfoy couldn't possibly find anything to complain about. The cut was of the latest fashion, with enough changes here and there to look original while still following the current trends, the material of the best quality; Ginny had even wimped out on the whole make-Malfoy-angry-with-thoughts-of-Harry thing and had added silver trimming here and there for a more Slytherin feel.

She felt a small pang of regret that she hadn't the courage to just sod it all and make that lovely orange-puce robe for Malfoy. Where was her inner Gryffindor?

Oh right. Her inner Gryffindor had rent to pay.

With a sigh, Ginny cast a quick spell on the robe to keep the dust and wrinkles away. Malfoy would be there to inspect it first thing in the morning, which left Ginny only a few hours to sleep. All of a sudden, that rickety cot Madam Malkin had left in the corner was looking very attractive.

What was the point of wasting all that energy to apparate home, only to have to come back here not long after? None at all. Or at least that's what Ginny told herself as she stowed her wand below the under-stuffed pillow and collapsed on top of the sheets, fully clothed.

What seemed like mere moments later, Ginny was woken by a soft tapping noise. A very persistent soft tapping noise that didn't sound like it would be stopping any time soon. Bloody owls; never have the decency to find someone who was actually _awake_. Eyes still closed, Ginny groaned, rolling onto her back for a good stretch. Feeling satisfying pops all along the vertebrae of her spine, she gave a contented sigh.

That damn tapping wasn't going away.

Reluctantly, Ginny opened her eyes and swung her legs over the edge of the cot and onto the floor, only to meet chilly grey eyes. Eyes that belonged to an inscrutable Draco Malfoy who was currently in possession of one impatiently tapping foot.

Oh. That's what that noise was.

"Sleep well?" he practically purred, somehow giving the innocuous question a dangerous edge.

Ginny scrambled to her feet, quickly rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "Malfoy," she said as composed as she could manage under the circumstances. "You weren't supposed to be here until-"

"Morning," he interrupted, his face still an expressionless mask which actually seemed more menacing than yesterday's taunts and glares. His arms uncrossed to make a vague gesture at the window, where bright sunlight was streaming into the room. "It's half past noon, Weasley. I would hardly call this morning."

Ginny cast a quick _tempus_ to check the exact time. Damn damn damn, Malfoy wasn't lying.

His foot had stopped; instead he stood eyeing what she was sure was a complete mess on top of her head. Her cheeks flushed as she ran her fingers through her hair, attempting to flatten it down, and shot him a dirty look.

She cleared her throat, "I have your robe ready."

A raised eyebrow was her only answer. This quiet Malfoy was unsettling, she very much preferred the side of him that used childish baiting. With a flourish of her wand, the robe floated off the mannequin and came to hover in the air before Malfoy, unbuttoned and opening invitingly.

"Try it on," she requested, doing her best to forget her rumpled appearance.

He shrugged off his own robe, carefully folding and draping it over a nearby chair. Ginny rolled her eyes. Merlin forbid a Malfoy walk around with a wrinkle.

With his new robe in place and fully buttoned, albeit looking a bit odd over the dress shirt Malfoy had on which was slightly more casual than the robes called for, he stood turning in front of the large mirror propped against a wall.

"Not bad," he grudgingly admitted, as if he had been expecting a disaster. Ginny admired her work as he checked it out from all angles; it was a perfect fit, snug in all the right places.

"And yours?"

Ginny startled, her cheeks flushing tomato red, as she realized he was now watching her instead of his reflection, catching her in mid-ogle. "Er, pardon?" she'd been a little too distracted to catch what he said.  
"Your robe, Weasley," he drawled slowly, as if speaking down to a particularly slow three year old. "I can't have you looking like rubbish, I have an image to uphold."

She scowled. "There's an easy solution for that," she crossed her arms stubbornly over her chest. "Don't take me."

He continued on as if she hadn't spoken, taking off the dress robe and changing back into the one he had come in wearing.

"I expect you to look presentable. That means I'll need to see your robe before the ball." He'd correctly assumed she hadn't made hers yet. "No hideous styles or clashing colors," he said holding his robe out to her. "It's acceptable, send it to the Manor. Madam Malkin should have the address on file."

Ginny felt like forcefully ripping that robe out of his stupid ferrety hands and stomping it into the floor. But that wouldn't help anything and she'd rather eat Doxy droppings than let Malfoy see one of her moments of immature rage. Gritting her teeth, she magicked it onto a hanger and into a long garment bag.

"Anything else?" she forced out, holding her temper in check.

"That'll be all," he said smoothing down his clothes and brushing off imaginary lint. "I'll be back tomorrow morning to see yours." He spun on his heel and quickly walked out, snapping the door shut behind him.

Ginny snatched a lumpy pillow off the cot and threw it at the door, letting her anger out in the least destructive and loud way she could. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten to her yet again.

She took a few breaths to compose herself.

Forget him.

She had a robe to make.

xxxxxxxxx

Draco sat at the desk in his study, nursing a snifter of his favorite after-dinner brandy. Well, not his study really; It was his father's study and always truly would be. Even though he had taken over the Malfoy titles and responsibilities as head of the household after the war and his father's imprisonment, he hadn't changed a thing in here. If he could, he'd steer clear of this room altogether rather than constantly feel like an intruding guest, but it was unavoidable. No other room had such severe security and privacy measures; no where else would be suitable to conduct business.

And business he had plenty of. Draco had no idea how his father had ever managed to juggle pleasing the Dark Lord and keeping the family fortune intact. The sheer number of investments and companies the Malfoys had control of gave him a headache, and that was after the Ministry had seized half their assets as "war reparations."

A soft knock on the study door drew his attention away from his brandy and the papers on the desk. "Come in," he called, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

Narcissa Malfoy was a proud woman and it showed in the way she held herself. She walked into the study, all poise and confidence, and gently dropped an envelope onto his desk before settling down in the wingback chair in front of it. Despite her grace, the war had taken a visible toll on her. Draco would be hexed faster than he could run away if he ever dared mention them, but he could see the crow's feet and deepening lines around her mouth, the strands of silver in her champagne colored hair that hadn't been there before.

"That Parkinson girl's owl is the most ghastly creature I've ever had the displeasure to lay eyes on," she gestured at the envelope she had placed on his desk.

Draco knew full well that his mother knew Pansy's name, yet she had always been 'that Parkinson girl' to her. Narcissa had never been enamored of her and had no qualms about making her displeasure known. She'd even had a pug named 'Pansy' for a short while, until the Dark Lord had tired of the shrill yapping during his residence at the Malfoys'.

Draco sighed, putting aside his brandy. "What is it this time?"

Narcissa raised a shoulder in her version of a shrug, face a mask of polite curiosity. Draco had a sneaking suspicion his mother knew exactly what this was concerning. She had a knack for knowing things, though Merlin knew how his mother found everything out.

Draco grabbed the letter opener at the edge of the desk in the shape of a miniature dagger with the Malfoy crest on the handle. Careful not to nick himself, the edge had a particularly nasty curse on it, he cut open the envelope and pulled out the sheet of parchment inside.

Narcissa wrinkled her nose as a cloud of perfume emanating from the parchment practically slapped her in the face. Draco' face similarly twisted at the smell. Oh for Salazar's sake, that woman couldn't do anything subtly. He quickly scanned the letter, a scoffing laugh tearing its way from his throat.

"She has graciously informed me," he explained to Narcissa with a grimace of distaste, "that I may pick her up next week, half an hour before the Memorial Ball."

"I was not aware you had asked her to accompany you for the evening," she inspected her nails, tone implying she knew he had not in fact asked her at all.

Draco smiled imperceptibly at his mother's fondness for her little games, "You know I didn't, mother."

"Well then," Narcissa stood, picking up the parchment and envelope. "I see no need for a reply." She walked across the study and casually tossed them into the fireplace where a greedy fire crackled, burning the letter to ashes within moments.

She paused in the doorway of the study on her way out. "And Draco?"

"Yes, mother?"

"Do remember to check up on that Weasley girl's robe tomorrow morning, darling," with that parting shot, a reminder of her inexplainable plethora of knowledge, she closed the door behind her.

This time, Draco was startled into a genuine laugh.

xxxxxxxxx

It was morning yet again and the two were staring each other down in a fabric-crammed back room of Madam Malkin's shop.

Brown eyes glared at grey, and the grey stared right back.

"Satisfied?" she spat with as much hostility as she thought was safe without offending the delicate sensibilities of a Malfoy and sending him running to Madam Malkin with tales of her tailor's lack of appropriate ass-kissing.

"It's fine." The git had barely even glanced at the dress robe Ginny had made for herself, spending the last ten minutes studying her instead.

"Well I'm glad it meets your approval," her voice was heavy with sarcasm. In truth, Ginny rarely had free reign with designing robes for Madam Malkin's customers. It had been a rare treat to be able to make a robe just how she wanted with no constraints on the design. Well, not many at least. To match Malfoy's green color scheme while avoiding looking like Christmas, Ginny had chosen a pleasant shade of sea-green that both matched Malfoy's robe and didn't clash with her hair for the majority of her robe. It had the same silver trimming as his had, though more intricate and in a larger amount as she didn't have to worry about over-feminizing her own robe.

Her touch was evident in the cut of the robe. While the top had only slight differences from a typical female dress robe, though perhaps the neckline was a tad bit lower, the skirt of the bottom was fuller than she had ever seen on a dress robe and more reminiscent of a muggle ball gown. It had several layers of a shimmery translucent fabric that would shift between shades of that sea-green with Ginny's movements.

She thought it was a perfectly lovely compromise between two options. More and more women had been attending functions wearing gowns rather than the traditional robes after the war; she didn't see why she had to choose one or the other when she could have the best of both.

Ginny had half expected Malfoy to protest such a mix of two different styles. However, the pureblood hadn't even batted an eye at the break from tradition.

His stare was beginning to make her uncomfortable. "What?" she snapped, fidgeting under his gaze.

"Your hair is long."

Well that...was remarkably unintelligent, even by Malfoy standards. "Have you gone mad? Or simply discovered a talent for stating the obvious."

He scowled, "Don't be an idiot. I merely meant I'll be expecting you to do something with it other than fashioning it into your usual rat's nest."

She fumed at that. "That was just the once Malfoy! After you'd so rudely woken me up." She'd made sure she looked presentable before Malfoy had come over to the shop this time, not a single hair out of place and clothes perfectly smoothed and pressed.

He waved a hand, dismissing her words. "Where do you live?"

"What?"

"I've hardly spent my time stalking you, Weasley," he said with a roll of his eyes. "I need to know where you live in order to pick you up for the ball."

No way. No way in hell would she give him her address. She'd likely find her flat full of poisonous snakes one of these days if she did.

"I'll just meet you there."

He smirked and shook his finger as if telling off a child for stealing candy. "That would make it all too easy for you to simply back out on your word and skip the ball."

"I never gave my word." She was stalling. Giving Malfoy her address would not only be potentially stupid and dangerous, but then she really would have no choice but to go. She enjoyed having a choice.

"Weasley." That single word carried all sorts of emotion: exasperation, irritating, a bit of exhaustion, and most importantly a hint of threat.

"Fine, fine," she grumbled, grabbing a shred of paper with a piece of a design on it. Flipping it over she quickly scribbled her address.

"Here," she held it out to him, holding it with the tip of her fingers. "If you show up any earlier than fifteen minutes before the ball, I swear I'll make you wait outside for hours." She quickly snatched her hand away when he took it, as if touching him would burn her skin with acid.

He almost grinned at her obvious aversion. "Surely I'm not that repulsive. You'll have to get used to the idea of touching me before next week." With that, he flicked her playfully on the nose before walking out, a gesture no Malfoy would normally be caught dead doing. But then again, leaving a Weasley off balance was completely worth it.

Ginny stood there, her mouth gaping open, torn between the urge to scrub her nose raw with a _Scourgify_ and the desire to run after Malfoy and demand to know exactly what medication he must be on.

xxxxxxxxx

And so came the day of the ball. Ginny had put it to the back of her mind, completely avoiding thoughts of the upcoming occasion all week, but she could ignore it no longer. She chewed on a lip as she sat before the mirror of her dresser, Hermione standing behind her twisting strands of fiery hair up into an intricate arrangement on her head.

"Stop chewing," reminded Hermione gently. "You're ruining your lipstick."

Ginny was dressed and made up, her hair the only thing left to finish. "What if it's absolutely horrid?" her complaining served to make her feel better about the impending torture of being Malfoy's companion.

Hermione shrugged. "I suppose just try to enjoy yourself as best you can."

"What if he lures me into a shady corner and decides it would be great fun to kidnap me and force me into an eternity of admiring his oh-so-amazing Malfoyness?"

Hermione giggled, pushing a jeweled pin into Ginny's hair that she swore she had never seen before as a finishing touch. "Well, if worst come to worst, this is a Portkey."

Ginny looked at the pin then at Hermione doubtfully. "An unregistered Portkey, Mione?"

Hermione flushed, all too aware of how illegal it was. "I like to have one, just in case." After all, the end of the war didn't mean the end of danger. Even years later there were still Death Eaters out there, avoiding capture, still a danger to the trio and the rest of society.

Ginny smiled gratefully. "Thanks Mione," she stood, pulling her friend into a hug. Trust Hermione to always be there for her, no matter how ridiculous or outlandish her concerns.

The doorbell rang as the two pulled apart. Ginny glanced at the clock ticking away on the wall. Exactly fifteen minutes before eight. She sighed; no making Malfoy wait for hours after all.

Hermione handed her the small clutch purse that Ginny had charmed to match her dress for the evening. "I'll be along in a few minutes," she added motioning to her own unfinished hair. "I'll do my best to keep Harry and Ron off your back."

Ginny nodded and went to greet Malfoy.

Unceremoniously throwing her door open, she glared at Malfoy standing in the slightly dingy hall looking entirely out of place in the not-so-extravagant building. She stepped out and slammed the door shut.

"Well? Let's go then."

xxxxxxxxx

Yay for hopefully starting to fill in some backstory. I'll totally try my best to write another chapter sometime this...year.

And hopefully stop making characters so bipolar.


	3. A New Leaf

Yep, chapter per year. That's the way I roll (unintentionally).

**It Started With a Robe**

Chapter 3- _A New Leaf_

They weren't apparating. Or rather they were, but only as far as a carriage that was waiting ten minutes ride from their destination. It was a gorgeous white carriage with a pair of equally gorgeous and obviously well-bred white stallions. According to the git 'a Malfoy must make an entrance.'

Sometime during the short carriage ride, Ginny had decided not to take this so seriously, decided not to take Malfoy so seriously, and most importantly of all, decided not to take herself so seriously.

There was no moral dilemma, no worries, no pressure. Tonight, there was no job. There was only a party and a man, a man no different from the hoards of ministry toadies she'd had to make forced conversation with all the years before.

It was one night, one ball, and then she'd likely never have to see him for another few years. She'd be classy, mature about it even.

And if Ron and Harry ended up killing Malfoy? Well hey, that couldn't be blamed on her.

The clop of hooves drifting in through the window and their soft breathing were the only sounds inside the carriage. It wasn't a comfortable silence; it begged to be filled with snide remarks backed by years of habit.

Malfoy cleared his throat and plucked at an imaginary dust mote off his sleeve. "I wanted to apologize."

Ginny choked on some spit on her next inhale.

He ignored her quiet spluttering and plowed on. "For that first day, when I came to order a robe." His face looked strained, as if he was trying to eat his own tongue. "I—my conduct was unbecoming of a Malfoy. It was too easy to fall into the habit of our school days."

Was this his way of saying he'd been an immature, infuriating, impossible prat? Not that she'd behaved too well either, but she wouldn't focus too much on that.

Quick Ginny, how would a classy mature woman handle this?

"I accept your apology."

But wait. She didn't want to make it too easy on him.

"You'll just have to make it up to me."

Did that sound like flirting? That sounded like flirting to her. _Damn_.

Obviously relieved his rare burst of conscience was over, he smirked. "I'll find a way."

With great timing, the carriage slowed and pulled to a stop in a quiet groan of wood. "Shall we?" One hand on the carriage door, he held the other out to her.

She had to admit, there was something to be said for making an entrance. It felt slightly indulgent, and dare she say it, glamorous, as he helped her out of the carriage and down its single step.

It was when the first flashing bulb of a camera blinded her that she realized there wasn't too much of a point in trying to keep Ron and Harry away from Malfoy anyway. She and Malfoy would likely be all over tomorrow's papers, there was no hiding those from them. Whether it was now or tomorrow, the volatile pair would find Malfoy, probably some place very public; their explosion was inevitable. Bodily harm now, or beaten to a pulp later?

She realized she had been frozen in place for several seconds when he placed a hand on her lower back and gently pushed her forward. He bent his head toward her ear. "Smile," he whispered, breath tickling the skin of her neck.

No wonder she always apparated straight to these things, not so many reporters hung around the apparition points inside. Ginny forced a smile, half certain she looked maniacal more than anything. Not to mention her hair always lit up like fire on photographs if a flash was used.

The two slowly made their way down the seemingly never-ending corridor of reporters and their cameramen. She could see Rita Skeeter lurking at the edge of the crowd, her acid green quill hovering in a frenzy beside her. Ginny doggedly resisted her urge to kick Malfoy as he charmed and smiled his way through the sea of quill armed piranhas. "I don't suppose we could move any faster?" she forced out quietly through gritted teeth.

She almost yelped at the sharp pain; the bastard pinched her bum! "No, we can't." Behind his blinding white smile, he sounded on the verge of strangling her.

Her smile melted into something resembling a grimace. Malfoys and their love of the public eye. With a motion that she hoped looked like she was fixing the collar of his robes, she viciously dug her nails into the skin just under it. "I suggest you try," she hissed as the bulbs continued to flash around them.

Maybe it was just her, but Malfoy seemed to speed up a bit after that. As they finally reached the entrance and the refuge of the heavy wooden doors, Ginny heaved a sigh of relief.

Like every year, the ministry had rented out the same hotel for the event. Built not long after the war had ended, it was modeled on a scaled down version of how Hogwarts had been before it had taken extensive damage in the final battle and the resulting post-war repairs.

The entrance hall they had just walked into was full of apparating guests being quickly ushered onward to free up the apparition points. Malfoy barely spared a glance for this room as they breezed through. He paused before the heavy oak double doors at the other side of the room.

"Don't embarrass me, Weasley." He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow and together they walked in.

The ballroom was a copy of the great hall at Hogwarts, complete with sweeping ceiling enchanted to reflect the sky outside. The only differences were the lack of house tables and on the raised platform where the professors' table normally stood was a long buffet. Floating trays with glasses of wine and flutes of champagne circulated the room; Ginny immediately snagged a glass of wine as one passed by.

Malfoy gave her a withering glare as she gulped it down.

"What?" she asked defensively. "I need some liquid fortification to deal with you."

"You look like an alcoholic," he grabbed the practically empty glass from her hands and looked for a nearby tray to return it to. "I believe that's the very definition of embarrassing me."

"Well then you shouldn't—" Ginny started to answer but was cut off by a jovial cry.

"Malfoy!" A red-faced, rather portly man pushed towards them through the crowd, almost knocking over a couple in his haste. "Thought I'd run into you here," he clapped Malfoy on the back in greeting, causing him to nearly stumble forward with its force.

"Abbot," he nodded back sedately, though with an expression that could pass for genuine pleasure on the inexpressive face of a Malfoy.

"I see you've started in on the drinks already," he gestured toward the empty glass still in Malfoy's hand with a good-natured chuckle. "Excellent plan, I say. I'm on my eighth, myself. Can't stand these bloody balls."

Ginny could see Malfoy's jaw tighten, the only sign of his irritation, as she laughed internally. Ooh, she just knew he was going to get her back for that one.

"And how is your niece doing?" he questioned, attempting to get back into the realm of socially acceptable polite conversation.

"Got her hands full with the Leaky Cauldron, my Hannah." This man was obviously proud of his niece. "Speaking of which, I wanted to discuss the expansion with you in further detail."

Malfoy nodded, now in more comfortable territory. "Feel free to drop by the manor anytime after lunch next Wednesday. Otherwise, I'll only be in at the office next week."

The two continued two exchange light commentary on business that went right over Ginny's head. She was sure she had a dazed look in her eye by this point.

"But how rude of me." Ginny snapped back to attention as the man suddenly focused his attention on her. "I didn't even greet your lovely date before boring her to tears."

She pasted a smile back on her face, it had slipped some time during the conversation, and held her hand out to shake. "Ginny Weasley," she introduced herself.

"Ah, Miss Weasley! I'm Quentin Abbot, pleased to meet you." He shook her hand with all the enthusiasm, and strength unfortunately, of a rampaging hippogriff. "Hannah's mentioned you a few times. I believe you made her robe for her wedding?"

Oh Merlin, Hannah Abbot! Well, Longbottom now. She felt silly for being so slow to make the connection. "Yes, but I think she and Neville were just trying to be nice asking me to design it."

"Nonsense, it was absolutely stunning, though I admit I know nothing of these things. My wife had actually been meaning to contact you for some time; she so admired, and I quote, your 'unique blend of muggle and wizarding styles.'" He snatched yet another glass off a passing tray, no doubt eager to add to the flush on his cheeks.

Malfoy took this opportunity to interrupt. "I hate to cut this short, but we must circulate." He flashed one of his disarming smiles. "It's expected, unfortunately."

"Yes, of course, of course," Quentin nodded agreeably. "I should be doing the same." They parted quickly after that with pleasant goodbyes and a promise of an owl from the man's wife.

When they had drifted out of earshot, Ginny narrowed her eyes and hissed at Malfoy, "What'd you have to be a git for? We were actually starting to discuss something I'd have an opinion about." Not to mention, she had just been about to get some business, if she wasn't mistaken.

"I am not here to discuss the merits of various fashions," he murmured back, unconcerned.

"Then why _are_ you here? And for what matter, why am _I_?"

"Because I must," he sighed. "I wasn't lying to Abbot when I said I was expected to circulate." His hand drifted toward his head, looking almost as if he wanted to run his hands through his hair in exasperation before remembering it was slicked back. He turned the motion into a smooth recovery, adjusting a few strands of hair to a more flattering position. "It's good for business to be well regarded in these social circles."

"What do you even do?" she asked curious. She knew the Malfoys were filthy rich, even after the war, but she had never paid any attention to the 'how' of their finances.

"A bit of everything."

Her lips thinned in McGonagall-like disapproval. That git was being evasive, wasn't he?

"My father had his fingers in many pies." His pale grey eyes scanned the churning mass of people, searching for their next unsuspecting victim of dull pleasantries.

"Well which pie is this for?" She motioned at the crowd and the waltzing guests.

"Blueberry."

Ginny stared blankly at him.

He sighed. "Learn to take a joke Weasley."

"Malfoys don't joke," she replied in a perfect imitation of his snooty tone from Hogwarts.

"I wasn't aware we were handing out copies of the family rule book to just anyone these days."

She was silent for a moment, contemplating. "Do you really have a family rule book?"

He laughed. A genuine, if short, laugh actually came out of Malfoy's mouth. "Actually, we do. Penned centuries ago and brought over from France with the original Malfois. Now, it rests safely in our manor's library until mother needs some obscure bit of nonsense to manipulate me into getting her way."

"You're not joking."

He shook his head. "Feel free to stop by someday. I'm certain you'd find it amusing. Some of the rules in there are fairly…antiquated," he spoke that last word as if it were a particularly fine joke. Ginny supposed it might have been.

What truthfully caught her attention was that Malfoy was actually being _friendly_. He had practically invited her over for Merlin's sake.

Joking over, his hand once more found her lower back as he guided her towards a middle-aged couple. She inwardly sighed and prepared for another conversation of looking pretty and being largely ignored. She suddenly realized she'd never gotten an answer to the second half of her question.

Two hours later, Ginny ached. She couldn't feel her toes in her restrictive heels, her back hurt, and her cheek muscles were burning from the strain of smiling without rest. All this and they hadn't even gotten to the actual dancing yet.

"We're done for the night."

"What?" she asked, somewhat dazed by this point. "I didn't catch that."

"We're done. No more people to meet. No more business," he smirked at her obvious discomfort. Though he had to admit he was surprised. She'd behaved herself remarkably well. "Now we do what you want."

She looked longingly at the small circular tables, meant to seat no more than four apiece, arranged on one side of the room. She'd been looking forward to dancing initially, but sod it all, her feet were throbbing.

He saw her desperate gaze and gave her a gentle push in that direction. "Go find a table. I'll get us drinks and join you."

As she collapsed on a well cushion chair, she reflected on the last two hours. She'd seen a side of Malfoy that earlier that day she would have sworn could never have existed. He'd been polite, witty, charming, authoritative in the right places, and respectful to those who deserved it. Yes, he was still a jerk in private, but the haughty, intentionally hurtful Malfoy from Hogwarts, and Madam Malkin's a few days ago, was all but gone.

She still hadn't decided if he legitimately matured or if it was all an act.

"Hey, Ginny!" Ron plopped into the chair beside her, setting his overloaded plate on the table. "Wachoo doin' here alone?" She could see a half chewed canapé in his mouth when he spoke.

Oh bullocks.

She hoped Malfoy had enough of the Slytherin self-preservation left not to come over here.

Hermione sat down on Ron's other side and mouth a silent 'Sorry!' to Ginny over his shoulder. She looked harried and had obviously been trying to keep Ron busy. Ginny saw no sign of Harry.

"Resting," she replied calmly, forcing her panic out of her voice as her eyes quickly darted to the buffet table. There was Malfoy, still getting drinks. "My feet are sore." She kicked off a shoe and wiggled her toes.

"Gross, Gin!" Ron screwed his face up in disgust. "Put that back on, I'm eating here!"

"Oh honestly Ron," Hermione sighed, sniping a morsel from Ron's plate. "They're just feet."

"Yeah, but, she's been dancing! They're all sweaty and stuff."

"They're a sight cleaner than yours, Weasley."

Oh Merlin's saggy left nut.

Draco was holding a tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a glass of dark red wine in the other, sneering down at Ron.

Ron sprang up from his seat, the chair overbalancing and tumbling over. "Malfoy! What're you doing here?" Unfortunately, his mouth was still full of the tasty finger foods and he ended up spitting small bits all down Malfoy's front.

The look on Malfoy's face spoke volumes. He'd managed to wrap disgust and an unspoken insult of how utterly common Weasley was in one chilly sneer. Setting the drinks on the table, he drew out his wand.

All three of the Gryffindors flinched. Ron reached into his jacket pocket for his own before remembering Hermione had borrowed it an hour ago and neglected to return it, Hermione inched her fingers toward the holster on her thigh under her dress that held both her and Ron's wand, Ginny mentally berating herself for forgetting hers at home altogether.

Malfoy muttered a _Scourgify_ and the pieces of food vanished, leaving his robes spotless once more. Ginny breathed out a small sigh of relief. He gave her a small crooked grin that said he knew exactly what each of them had been thinking in that moment.

"I was about to ask my date for a dance." Stowing his wand away, he grabbed Ginny's hand before she could so much as protest. She barely managed to slip her shoe back on before she was whisked onto the dance floor, Malfoy easily maneuvering them into the middle of a rather upbeat Viennese Waltz.

She was suddenly thankful she'd insisted on learning to dance properly after the disaster she'd had at the Yule Ball with Neville. Even if she couldn't dance, she thought Malfoy would have managed to make her look good anyway. His technique was flawless as far as she could see.

The two didn't speak, just spun across the floor. Every now and then she'd catch glimpses of Ron, beet red and yelling. Hermione had apparently given up trying to calm him and conjured up ropes that were currently tying him to his chair.

As Malfoy held her close, one hand clasping hers the other on her waist, she decided he wasn't so bad like this. Face devoid of a smirk and mouth shut, Ginny would even go so far as to say that Malfoy's company was palatable. In small doses.

As the song ended and the orchestra started up another significantly slower waltz, he adjusted accordingly, showing no signs of wanting to stop dancing.

"I have a favor to ask." He sounded reluctant and slightly uncomfortable.

"What is it?"

He looked at her, thoughtful. "Tomorrow." He shook his head. "I'll ask tomorrow."

xxx

I really am sorry for the way I update. I don't seem to have the attention span for anything multi-chapter, but I'm determined to one day finish since I've started.


End file.
